(My husband is British, and I am Canadian. I have moved overseas for him, and we have started a family. Because I am a foreigner, and the fact that a couple other woman in the community do not believe that I deserve my husband, I am the target of rude gossip and mean remarks, which I usually ignore. I am picking my son up from daycare, and overhear a couple boys my son’s age talking to him.)

Boy #1: “My mother tells me I’m not to play with you; your mum is an evil witch!”

Boy #2: “My mum told me your mum put a spell on your dad so he’d marry her, and then when he had you he was stuck!”

(They continue with a few more taunts asking if I’m a witch. I am close to tears because my son is being pulled into this stupid grudge. I am about to take my son and leave, when he suddenly pipes up.)

Son: “Oh, I know she’s a witch. You know how?”

(Both boys shake their heads.)

Son: “Because everything she does is magic!”

(I really start crying now and hug my son tightly. He never understood until years later just how much his words meant to me. The gossip didn’t go away for a long time, but I had my son’s support for his ‘witchy mother’.)

(I have been working a few months in the cleaning department of a hospital. I am 18, and it is only my second ever job. The senior supervisor is going through my hours and pay for the next month.)

Supervisor: “So, you worked Saturday and Sunday; that’s £10.50 an hour. £10.50 plus £10.50 is £21, so you should get £21.”

Me: “Uh, no, that’s not right.”

Supervisor: “Yes it is, look.” *begins typing it into calculator*

Me: “No, that’s right, but that’s just two hours.”

(My supervisor just gives me a blank look.)

Me: “I worked more than two hours on Saturday and Sunday. I worked six hours on Saturday, and six hours on Sunday, so it’s £10.50 times 12.”

Supervisor: “Oh… OH! Right. Lucky you spotted that!”

(This was five years ago, and the same supervisor still does the pay. Unsurprisingly, it is consistently wrong, and getting it corrected is usually like getting blood from a stone. Glad I’m only there until I graduate!)

(I work at a branch in a college town, so our customers are often in their late teens. I have just been commenting to a coworker that all these kids make me feel old when this happens.)

Customer: “I, like, want to, like, deposit some money in, like, my, like, account.”

Me: “Certainly. Is that going to checking or savings?”

Customer: “Like, checking?”

Me: “Of course. Do you want all of your check going in or would you like some cash back for yourself?”

Customer: “Like, can I, like, get $20, like, back?”

(I process everything through and the customer leaves.)

Me: *to coworkers, who are dying laughing* “And that, my friends, is the future of the world. Dear god, I hope she isn’t an English major.

(I’m working behind concessions. We’re an independent theater so we offer beer and wine along with the usual items.)

Customer: “Hi. Can I have a [Beer], please?”

(I usually try to figure out if I need to ask for ID by seeing if they have grey hair or any kind of age marks, but this guy has a shaved head and a fairly youthful face.)

Me: “Okay. Can I see some ID please?”

(The guy pulls out his wallet. That’s when I spot his badge. My eyes go wide.)

Customer: “I’m glad you asked. I didn’t want to have to arrest you.”

(He pays for his beer and goes off to his movie. To this day, I’m not completely sure if he was kidding about arresting me.)

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Customer: “I want two tickets to [Movie].”

Me: “The movie is rated R. May I ask how old you are?”

Customer: “17.”

Me: “May I see your ID, please?”

Customer: “Sure!”

(I was happy to get someone not fighting me for once, but then…)

Me: “Umm… no offense but your ID says you’re 15.”

Customer: “Oh, they just printed it wrong.”

Me: “I am sorry but I have to go by the year on the ID and according to this you are 14.”

Customer: “Just sell me the ticket.”

Me: “I am sorry; I can’t. You can pick out another—”

(The customer huffs off. Five minutes later:)

Customer #2: “I need THREE tickets for [R-rated Movie].”

(The customer is slightly older but I see the first person over behind a pole and peeking around.)

Me: “The move is rated R. May I ask how old everyone is?”

Customer #2: “Well I am 19 and she is 18. And I am not sure how old the other person is.”

Me: “May see all the IDs, please?”

(The customer gives me both his and other girl’s ID and they are the right age.)

Me: “May I see the last ID?”

Customer #2: “He didn’t give it to me, but he is right behind that pole. Let me get him really quick.”

(Customer #2 then tries to go over to Customer #1, who promptly runs off.)

Customer #2: “Weird… He gave the money and everything.”